


Epilogue the Second: Enthroned

by starhawk2005



Series: A Light in the Dark [9]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Het, Jane gets revenge, Jotun-ish Loki, Smut, Teasing, my kinks let me show them to you, yet another epilogue yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ‘lost scene’ from A Light in the Dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epilogue the Second: Enthroned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [story_weaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_weaver/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything Marvel, except for a Lego!Loki.  
> Author’s Notes: This is a gift!fic for story_weaver (storylover92 on Tumblr), who was kind enough to make me some GORGEOUS graphics for the Light in the Dark sequel series (which I hope to start working on soon!), and who asked for “a scene that you wanted to include but it just didn’t fit in the actual story line”. So here you are, hon, and so sorry for the long delay! Life has not been cooperating with me lately….

Jane sighs and shuts the book she’s been trying, and failing, to read. She knows by all rights she should be angry with Loki. Tricking someone into marrying you is not, and never _will_ be, acceptable behaviour. Jane doesn’t care what culture you’re from.

OK, he’s the God of Lies, so Jane should not have been surprised that he pulled a fast one on her. She also knows better than anyone how stubborn he can be when he wants something.

Not that any of this excuses him in any way.

It also doesn’t help her mood _at all_ that he’s been wearing an almost-permanent smug grin ever since his nefarious plot to make her his wife, without her consent or knowledge, was unveiled. 

Sure, maybe sometimes his expressions are so subtle that she might be imagining his self-satisfaction. But he sure seems to be strutting around the Palace over the last week-and-a-half like he owns it.

_ Mind you, he did save my life. _ Twice _. I suppose that counts for_ something, she reminds herself during those moments when she happens to feel more charitable towards him.

Not that this had stopped her from giving him a piece of her mind right after the Feast, the one where his little (no, collosal!) ruse had been revealed. She’d gone on and on about him making unilateral decisions (again!) about a _them_ situation. She’d asked how Loki would feel if their positions were reversed. She’d reminded him that he was damned lucky she had accepted; she loves him, but that does _not_ mean that she’d felt ready to marry him! 

Throughout her entire tirade, he’d nodded and made noises of agreement…but still there was that hint of pleased, contented smirk hovering on his lips. By the time Jane was talked out, she knew without a doubt that Mr. Trickster God was just humouring her. Loki of Asgard feeling regretful about what he’d done? _Yeah, sure._ His remorse was about as real as a three-dollar coin.

Jane grumbles quietly to herself as she sets the book down and leaves the Library to wander down the hall. What’s even more frustrating about the whole situation is that Jane has no clue how to get him back. She could divorce him, if Asgardian law even permits it – though Thor had not been at all clear on that – but that seems way too excessive, especially since in her heart she knows that she always expected to marry him one day.

It would serve him right if she pulled a little trick of her own, but she’s never pranked anybody in her entire life. Ever. In fact, she’s always scoffed at that kind of behavior, always thought of it as being mean and very, _very_ far beneath her.

But she’s beginning to think she might make an exception for a certain unrepentant Norse god.

_ Still…how exactly does one trick a Trickster, no, THE Trickster? _ _No pressure_ , she thinks to herself sourly. 

Ever observant, Loki knows just how annoyed she is with him, and he’s nearly bent over backwards to behave in as courtly a fashion as possible – the permanent smirk aside – whenever they are in each other’s company lately. 

He’s practically tripped over his own feet to open doors for her, usually the Library or Observatory doors, since those are the places in Asgard she visits most. He regularly presents her with the most gorgeous blossoms from Frigga’s personal gardens (with or without his mother’s permission, Jane doesn’t know and is too prudent to ask). He’s been nothing but solicitious towards her at every meal, explaining any bizarre foodstuff and showing her how to eat it.

And then there’s the absolutely _amazing_ sex-

_ Stop. _ If Jane didn’t know him better, she’d think he really was sorry but…there’s the _smirk_ , right? Especially when he thinks she isn’t looking. 

There’s no question in Jane’s mind; he has to _pay_. The only problem is how, and Jane mulls this over endlessly when Loki’s not distracting her with some shiny new Asgardian wonder. 

_ Do I dare try to recruit Thor and his friends to help me prank Loki somehow? _ she wonders sleepily that night, precisely nine days after Loki revealed their ‘elopement’ to the world (and to her). 

The object of her annoyance is currently curled around her in his obscenely massive bed, snoring softly, while the light of Asgard’s three moons shines down on them through the long windows. It was hard for Jane to sleep at first with all the starlight and moonlight in his bedroom, but she’s gradually gotten used to it.

_ No, _ she decides reluctantly, shifting in Loki’s arms slightly. _Bad idea_. She can’t exactly say that Loki and his adopted brother are friends yet. ‘Cautious allies’ seems a better label, and Jane doesn’t want to throw any more strain into their reconciliation. There’s enough tension between Loki and Thor already without adding Thor playing tricks on Loki, even if it’s only on Jane’s behalf, into the mix.

Finally she sighs with defeat and snuggles deeper into Loki’s arms. Maybe next week, which is when they plan to return to Earth, will work better in terms of pranking Loki. Darcy might be keen to help; she has her own devious side, and Jane doesn’t think her lab assistant will balk at all once she finds out what Loki did (if indeed Darcy hasn’t already heard).

Sleep claims Jane almost mid-thought, but when she wakes again it seems like no time has passed at all. One moon has set but the others are still high in the sky. It’s roughly midnight, then, if she’s remembering her Asgardian astronomy correctly. 

She notices then that something else has changed. Loki is gone. She blinks, sitting up and looking around the room for him. It’s not the first time she’s woken alone, as he doesn’t sleep as much as a human being, but usually he doesn’t go far.

Not this time, however. He’s not sitting at his massive desk, poring over a dusty spellbook, nor is he on the terrace, staring out across the shining towers of the city sprawling below the Palace. Jane considers getting up and searching for him.

_ Why do the floors here have to be so damned icy? _ she complains, wincing after one half-hearted attempt to get out of bed. _Where’d I leave that slipper-_

She feels it then, a gentle whisper of magic in the air. It’s like gossamer brushing across her senses. 

_ Jane _ , it beckons her.

It’s like the dream he wove for her months ago. A dream where she woke in his room – this very room - in Asgard, and then left it to find him sitting on the massive golden throne-

She blushes and shakes her head, trying to banish the memory. _Maybe this isn’t what it seems; maybe I’m dreaming right now?_ It wouldn’t be the first time she’s had a dream about waking up.

The magic calls to her again, murmured words forming in her mind. _Come to me, beloved._ The latter is his newest endearment for her, something he started calling her right after the ‘Big Reveal’. Along with ‘wife’ here and there, though he stops for a day or so every time she grits her teeth at that title. She thinks she almost prefers her ridiculous ‘Death-killer’ label to _that_.

The magic sighs in her mind’s ears once more, and Jane scowls at the empty room, but as she knows all too well, Loki is stubborn. Dream or not, awake or not, he’s unlikely to stop pestering her until she goes to see what his game is.

Grumbling even louder now, Jane shifts the heavy covers off her legs and wriggles from the high mattress down to the floor. “Yikes!” she exclaims, hissing in a breath at the cold kiss of stone under her feet. A frantic search finally locates her fur-lined slippers, and Jane goes to retrieve the robe of heavy brocade (in dark green and gold cloth, of course) that Loki gave her the day after the Harvest Feast.

The floor is just too damned cold for this to be a dream, she reluctantly concludes. Also, there isn’t that weird blurring at the edges of her vision that she remembers happened in her last dream of this room. Her ‘data’ suggests that she’s fully awake this time.

_ Wonderful _ , she thinks acidly. He’s really pushing his luck.

Even if Jane didn’t have enough ‘data’ by now, the long torchlit hallway outside Loki’s room takes her a long time to cross, her slippers noisily scuffing along the floor the whole way. Time and motion aren’t racing the way they did in her dream, and it takes her at least two minutes to reach the end of the corridor and the stairs that lead up to the Great Hall. 

There’s nobody around at this hour, not even servants, for which Jane decides she is profoundly grateful. She hikes up the hem of her robe and climbs the stone steps, not surprised at all as Loki comes into view across the cavernous room.

_ Yeah, two points for me, _ Jane thinks with a grimace. As she expected, he’s lounging on Asgard’s throne. At least he’s not wearing those crazy horns this time, just a soft tunic of dark green linen, and the black leather pants he’s almost always wearing. It’s his version of Jane’s flannel shirts, she supposes.

_ I’ll bet I can guess where _ this _is going_. She should’ve suspected Loki would be unable to resist a chance to defile the _real_ Asgardian seat of power eventually.

It takes a while – way too long – to cross the huge space between her and the dais. Just as in her dream, Loki rises to his feet as she reaches the bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne.

“Jane Foster of Midgard,” he greets her, also just like he did in the dream. But the next thing he utters is entirely new. “Wife”, is what he adds, all while smirking down at her, his eyes gleaming rather hungrily.

But instead of lowering her own gaze or throwing titles around, this time Jane folds her arms across her chest and glowers up at him. They’re a long way from the early days, when Jane was always a little nervous about what he might do if he got angry. 

_ Maybe it’s about time he became nervous about  _ my _anger_ -

Loki arches an elegant brow as he looks down his nose at her. “Not so eager to appease me _this_ time either, I observe.”

“Gee, I don’t know why I ever agreed to marry you. Oh wait, that’s right, I _didn’t,_ ” she remarks sardonically, her arms still folded. 

He cocks his head to the side, trying and failing the hide the damned _smirk_. “You realize, my beloved, that most women regardless of their Realm of origin would kill to marry a Prince, no?”

Jane rolls her eyes at that. “Really? Come _on_. You know me better than to think that dangling your title in front of me is going to impress me.”

He chuckles but doesn’t descend the stairs. Instead, he folds his lean form back down into the enormous gold throne, steepling his hands under his chin as he regards her speculatively. 

“To my memory, you professed your love for me,” he reminds her. “You cannot be as adverse to our union – no matter how it came about – as you pretend. Unless you were lying, of course.” But she can tell he doesn’t believe that. There’s only one habitual liar in the room.

Jane huffs and gathers her robe up once more, stomping ungracefully up the stairs. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” she retorts.

He’s still smirking when she reaches the top of the dais, though it falters a bit when she doesn’t take the hand he holds expectantly out to her. “I know exactly what you want, Loki, and the answer is _no_.” She looks meaningfully at the golden seat he’s occupying.

“Why not?” he coaxes, his voice turning velvety. “I promise not to conjure any illusions of Thor this time.”

Jane scoffs. “Uh-huh. Are you also going to hide us from the guards who are sure to show up at any second?”

It’s Loki’s turn to scoff. “‘Guards’?”

“Yes, _guards_. Don’t they make the rounds once an hour, or something?”

“Hardly. Why should they be required to watch an empty throne? Their task is to guard Odin and Frigga. That is where they are, and will remain until the morning hours.” 

Jane shrugs with her best show of indifference. “So what if they are? Just because we can, doesn’t mean we _should_. What’s in it for you, anyway? Is there something wrong with your bed?” She nearly says ‘our’ bed, but manages to catch herself just in time. It’s yet another thing she’s not in the mood to concede to Mr. Presumptuous.

Loki allows his smirk to widen as he looks at her. “I may never have wished to rule, but that does not mean that the symbols of power do not have their allure. And you cannot tell me that Odin has shown himself so fatherly and welcoming toward you that you would not relish having such a delicious secret from him, that we sported on his throne in his absence.” He grins and there seem to be a few too many teeth in that smile. “Not to mention the intense pleasure I intend to visit upon you, should you comply with your ‘King’s’ desires.”

Jane grits her teeth. Damn him, Loki has a point; while Frigga had been overjoyed at the news of their ‘elopement’, it had been impossible to miss how Odin’s features had pinched in disgust. That he thought a mere human bride was far beneath his sons, even his adopted son, could not have been more obvious to Jane in that moment.

Within seconds Odin’s expression had smoothed itself, and he’d been meticulously civil towards Jane ever since, but she wasn’t going to kid herself about Odin accepting her into the fold.

_ Yeah, but that still doesn’t mean we should do this, _ she wants to say to Loki. Because it’s the _right_ thing to say, and to do. Jane Foster usually tries to do the right thing, and even if Loki is usually the polar opposite, so what? She really shouldn’t let Loki corrupt her. _How,_ she wonders, and not for the first time, _did I end up falling in love with someone so different from me in that way?_

But a second later she changes her mind. OK, she’s vindictive enough to want to get back at Odin, at least a little. She can admit that to herself. She’s only human after all. And really, what harm could come of ‘sporting’ on the throne? But that doesn’t mean Loki is off the hook for tricking her, not yet. In fact Jane is very tempted to say no to his idea, just to frustrate him…

That’s when it comes to her at last. He’ll get what he wants, but only on _her_ terms.

“Fine,” she says flatly. Loki snaps his mouth shut on whatever argument he was about to present to her, a victorious look on his criminally handsome face. 

But she’s not done. “On one condition,” she warns him.

“Name it,” he says, his tone indulgent even if his eyes are dancing with glee at her apparent capitulation.

She stomps authoritatively forward until she is standing in front of him, between his obscenely splayed knees. “Move.”

He blinks at her, face going blank with astonishment, and it’s Jane’s turn to suppress a grin. It’s always fun taking him by surprise. “What?” he asks, his tone full of disbelief.

“You heard me,” she insists as she nudges at his knee with hers. “ _Move_. Out of my way. Off your ‘alluring’ throne. _Now_.”

He’s slow to obey but eventually their positions are reversed, Loki watching her very intently as she settles herself comfortably into the golden cushion on the broad seat. 

She pretends to ignore Loki for a moment as she studies the throne more closely. The two angular ‘wings’ of gold stretching out on either side like wings, the incredibly detailed filigree and knotwork covering nearly every surface. It’s definitely an impressive symbol of power, she’ll give the Asgardians that.

Jane takes her time admiring the throne, and when she turns back to Loki at last, she can tell he’s already figured out her game. _Or_ thinks _he has_. She smirks to herself. 

“Enjoyable, is it not?” he prods her.

“It could be better,” she replies, and as his brow furrows at her answer, she continues: “Get on your knees and get over here.”

It’s not how they have become accustomed to doing things; usually he’s the one in control, although they’ve taken their time about reintroducing such things to their relationship ever since The Other took her. 

But even if Loki enjoys being the dominant one most of the time, Jane hadn’t missed how much he liked being the submissive one, the few times she had felt moved to take over. She’s totally fine with that; it increases the chance he’ll fall into her little trap.

So she’s not amazed when Loki blinks only once at her pronouncement, then leers and slides gracefully down onto his knees. “So you wish to play at being Queen, beloved wife?” he murmurs. 

“Why should you have all the fun?” Jane agrees mildly, pretending to ignore the hated title – it’s an attempt by Loki to get under her skin, and they both know it – as she beckons him over in front of her. She places her hands on the arm-rests, leaning back against the tall back of the throne. “Untie me,” she orders him, motioning imperiously with her chin.

“At once, my Queen,” he answers crisply, though silent laughter hovers in his eyes. One long-fingered hand takes up one of the loose ends of the bow holding her robe closed, and slowly slips it free. The front of her robe falls open a little, revealing a glimpse of the form-fitting silken shift Jane has gotten into the habit of sleeping in. It’s a dark green identical to both her robe and Loki’s tunic, with swirling snakes of gold and silver thread expertly woven into the plunging neckline and hem.

He’s already reaching for that hem, and Jane moves to block him with a hand laid lightly on his wrist. “Not so fast, Loki. I want you to strip first.” She can’t help casting her eyes around the room, still a little worried about them being found. 

But the gigantic Hall is completely empty of life, and if nothing else, she _does_ trust Loki to hide them from everyone’s sight and hearing…if only because Jane will never let him live it down if they did get caught, and he knows it.

His answering laugh is husky, and against her will Jane feels heat stir in her belly. “As my cherished one wishes,” he replies silkily. He’s quick to stand but slow to do everything else, his nimble fingers taking their time undoing every lacing and button, while from under his eyelashes he watches her watching him the entire time.

Naturally, there’s still that damned _smirk_ on his gorgeous face.

Heat prickles again deep inside her. Loki knows so well how to push her buttons, and it’s comforting and utterly, completely _annoying_ at times like these.

His clothing tumbles piece by piece, landing in an untidy pile, and soon he’s naked with the torchlight gleaming on every line and angle of his body. _It’s a_ good _look_ , Jane thinks, allowing herself to smirk up at him. “C’mere,” she beckons.

Loki’s expression is becoming just a bit too cocky as he settles himself between her spread knees, reaching confidently for the hem of her shift again. “Not yet,” she corrects him. “Your Queen wants a kiss.”

His husky laugh brushes against her mouth as he leans in. “So demanding,” he teases, and Jane is all too aware of the weight and warmth of his hands as each settles lightly on her thighs. 

“I learned from the best,” she points out, tilting her head to accept the tribute of his lips on hers.

She wants to plunge her hand into his hair, to feel the smoothness of it between her fingers, so she does, Loki’s answering moan vibrating through her mouth. When she’s had her fill of kissing him, she tugs on the handful of blackness, urging him to turn his attentions to her neck and throat.

He complies eagerly, his tongue searing along the pulse in her neck while Jane groans. Teeth nip lightly at where her neck meets her shoulder, and pleasurable goosebumps rising all over her body in response. 

Despite his excellent efforts to distract her, she finds herself scanning the huge room once more, but they’re still alone. When Loki’s hands settle on her arms, stroking her through the silky fabric, her attention snaps back to him.

“May I remove this from you, my Queen?” he plucks at the sleeve of her robe. It’s still draped over her shoulders. 

“Not yet,” she repeats. Instead she smiles, shrugging the robe off her shoulders to fall around her elbows and waist, and then she guides his head instead to her breast. 

His tongue flicks out, idly tasting the fabric of the shift that separates him from her soft skin, then he twists slightly so he can gaze up at her, his tongue slipping slowly across his teeth. “So cruel,” he says, but the light in his eyes says otherwise. He’s amused by her little game, at least for the time being.

Jane takes her turn to chuckle. “Making you work for it is ‘cruel’? Poor you.” She tugs on his hair to emphasize her point, but not too hard. 

“The burden of being forced to be creative,” he laments with a mock sigh. He pauses, pale lids lowering over his eyes, but before Jane can urge him on his lips close around her nipple through the shift, sucking hard enough to pull something like a quiet squeal from her throat.

The material between them is damp when he moves off at last. When he blows an icy breath across the spot, chilling both fabric and skin, it jolts Jane into a gasp. Goosebumps prickle all over her body once more.

That laugh rumbles from him again, throaty and low. “Teasing a trickster is ever a risky proposition, my Queen,” he reminds her with a wink, but before she can answer he looms even closer, crowding her back into the throne. His teeth scrape lightly across her throat, and she shudders as her eyes fall closed. 

The heat of his mouth brands her neck, her chin, and then he takes her mouth and she can feel her resistance evaporating as her _need_ sharpens, becoming an empty ache that she badly wants him to fill.

His tongue caresses across hers, the taste of him familiar. Then it turns _cold_ , her answering groan morphing into mist against his lips.

Jane’s fingers squeeze in his hair but before her mouth can go numb his touch warms. His hands grope to find her shoulders and he wrenches the thin straps of the shift aside, his movements rough, and when he presses into her again she can feel him pressing against her inner thigh, rigid and hot and urgent.

She should stop him, or at least try to slow him down, but it feels so good that she can’t bring herself to do so. Cold and warmth swirl through her, tracking his kisses as his mouth glides from her lips to her neck, then along one bared shoulder. He squeezes her breast through the cloth now stretched across it, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and her hips rock forward automatically, as if she’s reaching for him, begging for him. She’s already wet.

Another sharp jerk of his hand and her breast is bare, the cold palm of his hand running over her nipple, stiffening it and sending a jolt of sensation like  electricity throughout her body. Then there’s his scalding,  demanding mouth suckling at the tip once more, leaching away the chill, while his free hand finds her knee and begins to pull the hem of her shift up and away.

“Loki,” she moans, her hand fisting tight in his hair when his tongue turns icy again, her nipple throbbing hard from the renewed shock.

He releases her taut nipple, but his eyes are dark and fiercely determined as he reaches to untangle her fingers from his mane, before he places them down with exaggerated care on the arms of the throne. “I can _scent_ just how much you want me. Will you stop me now?” he rasps.

She doesn’t even try, not when he shoves the shift up to puddle around her waist, and not when he seizes her hips to drag her relentlessly forward to the very edge of the throne. Her chest heaves and she feels like she can’t catch her breath, her blood pulsing loudly in her ears as she waits to feel whatever he will do to her next. 

Jane really should’ve known that he’d be able to seduce her into forgetting her need for revenge.

Teeth drag just a fraction too hard at the inside of her knee, causing her to bite her lip and dig her nails into the unyielding surface of the armrests. “Will you deny me still, Jane Foster?” he growls, the low sound vibrating his chest. Jane shakes her head, her eyes wide and pupils dark as their gazes lock.

Iron fingers grip her thighs, forcing her legs even wider apart. Jane no longer cares if anyone is watching, or could catch them in the act; just as long as he doesn’t stop, for God’s sake.

His mouth touches her first, his pliable tongue flicking over her swollen clit and sending a sizzling bolt of delight through her entire body. Jane yelps, her hand finding his hair again, twisting into it and holding him close. No more teasing, she just can’t-

Loki’s tongue turns icy as it glides a slow circle against her, and she convulses, almost shoving him away. “Loki!” she exclaims before she can stop herself.

He chuckles devilishly, and Jane feels a single finger invade her, slipping smoothly _just_ inside her. His free hand slithers up her body to pluck at her hardened nipple like ripe fruit. “You’re so very wet,” he hums. “If there’s nothing else I have learned about you in these many months, my wife, it is that you enjoy _intense_ sensation. Protest if you must, but your exquisite body will reveal your true desires to me without fail.” He ends with a slow, chilled lap of tongue between her folds, and Jane shudders uncontrollably, her head lolling back against the throne as his chuckle vibrates on her skin.

She expects cold fingers to plunge deeply into her, but he gives her warm ones to ride instead, pumping them into and out of her in an ungentle way that nevertheless is exactly what she needs right now. 

He exhales an icy breath against her, letting her feel just how wet she is for him, before he settles in to drag her to her climax, swiping his frosty tongue over her nub faster and faster as her body constricts around his hand. The pressure inside her increases endlessly until she has to release it all in a loud cry and a pulsating, shattering orgasm, the pupils of Loki’s eyes gleaming faintly red as he watches.

Jane’s breaths whistle in her ears as she calms, sweat coating her body. Loki’s cheek rests on her thigh, his fingers moving tenderly inside her. Glacial lips ghost against her quivering skin. “May I assume that I pleased you, my Queen?”

“Y-yes, you sure may,” Jane manages, though she regrets it instantly as that infuriatingly self-satisfied _smirk_ blooms over his features again. _Damn it._ _I am_ so _sick of him looking like the cat that ate the canary._

“It gladdens my heart to hear it. Will you then reward your faithful servant?” he asks coyly, looking up at her from beneath his long lashes. If she cranes her neck she can see just how aroused he is, the shaft nearly purple and fluid beading at the tip of his neglected cock.

It’s in that moment that she knows _exactly_ how to make him pay. 

“Of course,” she agrees, working hard to seem like she’s willing to give up control to him. She even vacates the throne, inviting him to swap places with her. She also pretends to ignore how his eyes light up at the notion of _finally_ having what he’s obviously wanted for so long; him on the Asgardian throne, with his lover on her knees in front of him in worship.

Which Jane has no problem doing…at least not at first.

Loki takes his turn to tangle his fingers in her hair, watching avidly as Jane licks the little droplet of fluid from the swollen head. She strokes her fingers lightly over his shaft, lazily tracing the thick veins, and allows her tongue to tease at the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. “Is this what you wanted?” she asks after a minute, even though she knows the answer.

“Yessss,” he hisses back, his fingers tightening slightly in the roots of her hair. “You know that it is, beloved. How I shall face Odin from here on without having to hide my amusement shall be an interesting chall-“ His voice cracks and stutters into a groan as Jane slides him between her lips, rubbing her tongue along the underside.

Unfortunately for the God of Mischief, Jane knows him pretty well too. She knows when he’s getting close to the edge, and also how to slow her strokes just enough to pull him back from the brink. The first time she denies his climax, her only reward is that _smirk_.

The second time, however? His beautiful face twists, a dissatisfied growl rumbling low in his chest.

But the third time, when Jane stops completely and leaves him sprawled on the throne, panting, his pale skin glistening with sweat? 

He’s not so amused anymore.

“What is _this_?” he snarls, as Jane straightens her shift and pulls the top of her robe up and around her again, tying the belt firmly closed.

“It’s _payback_ , Loki,” she explains calmly. “I told you never _ever_ to make unilateral decisions about us, remember? So if I were you, I’d stop looking so pleased with myself every minute of every goddamned day. You’re _lucky_ that you saved my life, and that I _love_ you. And you’re also _lucky_ that a little orgasm denial is the only revenge I plan to take. After this, we’re even.”

She nearly smirks herself at the disbelieving, open-mouthed expression on his face as she turns and makes her way placidly down the stairs.

It’s not quite a prank, but it will do. _Especially if it causes him to stop looking like he got one over on the universe (and me) all the frigging time._

Jane makes it back to their (his) bedroom without incident, but she’s not at all surprised when the moment the door closes firmly behind her, he materializes from nowhere, pressing his hard, naked body against her back. 

His hands close securely on her hips. “You have the right of it, my love; I do _not_ deserve you,” he whispers. “So shall we spend the rest of this night – and no doubt many others – seeing if I can _earn_ the right to that which I originally took from you through trickery?”

The raw, open _need_ in his voice makes her breath catch in her throat, as does the look in his eyes when she turns to peer over her shoulder at him. “Of course we can,” she agrees, pressing herself into him and deliberately rubbing her backside against his throbbing length. “I have complete faith in your ability to convince me,” she teases, though it’s entirely the truth as well.

It’s a very _very_ tired but thoroughly sated Jane who crawls out of their bed the next morning.


End file.
